Mindfulness Poem by Mitta Xinindlu

We're sitting on a hill,
reminiscing about our deeds.
These are mesmerising moments of ease;
scenes are harmonising in keys.
But we're in a state of oblivion,
shunned from the view of fate in this period.

We think about the nice days from our teens;  
the things that we did at our free will.
We're in sync with the future and past tensions.  
Indeed, we could enjoy the present intentions.   
But we're in a state of oblivion,
shunned from the view of fate in this period.

We envision our problems gone;
with collisions exposed and pawned.
Oh! We could enjoy this peaceful time,
on this hill, watching the sunrise.
But we're in a state of oblivion,
shunned from the view of fate in this period.

The beautiful birds stride pass our face.
Thick cuticles blurred, striped by hours of grace.
They flap their wings, forming art;
tail lamps for us, bleeding hearts.
But we're in a state of oblivion,
shunned from the view of fate in this period.

People of different cultures come to us.
Simple, they offer their services; no Judas.
Wave their hands with care;  
give their food to share.
But we're in a state of oblivion,
shunned from the view of fate in this period.

What a sad case this is; our mindfulness is butchered.
Heads are swimming between the past and the future.
Opportunities to love others in truth are being missed.
Communities could share true love; limiting the rifts.
But we're in a state of oblivion,
shunned from the view of fate in this period.